


The Four Affair

by girlintheglen



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All four of the top UNCLE agents join forces in order to bring down another THRUSH villain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Two people walking down a dark alleyway were hoping to remain unseen.  The woman was willowy and young; her companion seemed younger than he was, and a fringe of blond beneath his cap contrasted sharply to her dark auburn hair.

Two other members of this team should have been here as well, but something had delayed them.  Something like a man with a gun.

Now, creeping along the filthy pavement strewn with trash and refuse from the broken down buildings around it, April Dancer and Illya Kuryakin were the targets of a search by the same man who had captured their fellow agents, Napoleon Solo and Mark Slate.  April was feeling her way through this assignment alongside the cool Russian.  Her initial foray into the field alongside UNCLE’s two top agents had yielded this unhappy circumstance: Solo and Slate, her own partner, were now in the hands of a THRUSH chief by the name of Lucas Weir.  Kuryakin had remained professional and detached in the wake of his partner being captured, but April knew that eventually he would address her part it in. 

She was not looking forward to that.  
  
 **24 Hours Earlier** …

UNCLE Headquarters in New York City was bustling as usual; secretaries and support staff were each involved in carrying our their duties, all of it integral to the success of the organization.  The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement was not, as some thought, a one-man operation.  Although the iconic head of the Northwest Section, Alexander Waverly, reigned as the head of the top five chiefs, it was the work of the entire network that insured its success.

One key element to that success was, of course, the enforcement agents who went out into the world battling the forces of evil that repeatedly attempted to thwart good intentions and legitimate governments in an effort to subvert power into their own hands.  THRUSH was the principal foe of UNCLE, a supranational entity that set its sights on subjugating the world for a supposed doctrine of superiority.  That characteristic had never been recognized nor supported by the actions of its members and minions.  Waverly detested the Hierarchy, and his purpose in life rested on successfully putting it out of business.  Permanently.

This day found Alexander Waverly in his spacious office, the round table he reckoned was a modern day nod to the famous knights of King Arthur waited for his own warriors to attend.  One more mission, four more opportunities among them for bravery and possibly sacrifice, none of which would ever be recognized outside of this room.

The Old Man’s concentration was interrupted with the swooshing sound of the pneumatic doors and the entry into his council room of the four agents he would send out today on this affair.

Napoleon Solo was the Chief Enforcement Agent of the Northwest Region.  Handsome and intelligent, suave and irresistible to women on multiple continents and small islands, the man exuded a confidence that bordered on arrogance but never reached it.  He was, very simply, the best of UNCLE.

Illya Kuryakin was number two in this elite Section II ranking.  Nearly a polar opposite to his partner, the Russian elicited none of the frenzied sexual attraction that followed the American.  Women dared not throw themselves in Kuryakin’s path; much like King Xerxes of the Old Testament, one waited to be summoned rather than risk exile, or worse.  Besides all of that, the man was lethal and smart.  THRUSH dreaded to see him coming.

Mark Slate was a British agent whose affable personality and quick mind had set him on a road marked by successful missions and ready commendations from those around him.  He was a good looking man, possessing talent and charm, as well as the ability to get himself out of trouble… repeatedly.  He was also the first man in the organization to be paired with, not surprisingly, the first female agent.

April Dancer.  She was a stunning auburn haired woman with a seemingly endless supply of vitality and wit.  She had braved Survival School and overcome it with surprising results, and having gained the attention of Alexander Waverly, the young woman was assigned to New York and the advantages of being groomed for success by the Man himself.  She was the first of many who would follow in her well-clad footsteps.

Now all four of these agents sat around the big table, each with a file folder ready for perusal.  Agents Slate and Dancer had, on previous occasions, been involved with a mission that also included the two top men, Solo and Kuryakin.  Dancer and Solo had completed one affair in which one might say, stranger things have happened, but not lately.  Mother Muffin was not something either of them wished to re-visit.

Kuryakin and Slate had also worked together, although on different aspects of the same mission.  Theirs was a friendly relationship, although none of the four had spent much time together in the ensuing months after these affairs were completed.  Such was life in the Command.

Napoleon and Illya read the file, mentally checking details and visualizing scenarios as they might occur.  April and Mark had a trill of excitement over the prospect of being paired again with the other two agents; this time they would all be working together, and that was a vote of confidence for them.  Solo and Kuryakin commanded the best.

Waverly shuffled some papers, put his hands on a favorite pipe and fumbled in his pocket for a match.  He was aware of the measured breathing of each person in the room, the anticipation of what he would say to them.  He smiled inwardly about his ability to inspire and, when necessary, instill fear.

“Ahemm… Gentlemen… uh, Miss Dancer…’

And so it began.  
[](http://glennagirl.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/354/366274)


	2. Chapter 2

 

Napoleon Solo woke up with a clanging cymbal going off in his bruised head.  It was too early in the year for New Year celebrations and too late for the fourth of July…

“Buggers, I hate THRUSH drugs.”

Mark came too with an identical headache, and voiced his complaint before he remembered who was in this mess with him.

“I can’t say I’ve been able to develop a fondness for them either, Mark.  Do you have any idea where we are?”

The Englishman shook his head slowly; a useful memory reminded him of the dangers of vigorous head movements at times like this.

“The last thing I remember was April with a gun to her head.  I suppose that was the point, eh?  Us coming to the rescue?”

Napoleon considered that, remembered wondering where April had come from and why she was there without Illya.

“Did you see what happened to her… or to Illya?”

Mark closed his eyes; the room disappeared as he visualized the last scene in which the four had all been together.  Nothing came to him except April.  And the gun.

“No.  April isn’t careless, Napoleon.  There’s no way she…”

“I know, Mark.  I’m just concerned about them.  Illya rarely makes mistakes, and letting April wander into that set up was… uncharacteristic of him.  Do you have a homing device on you?”

Napoleon needed something to latch onto, some little bit of good luck or timing… anything.  Without knowing what the fate of the other two agents might be, escaping was even more urgent for the CEA.  He had people unaccounted for.

Mark grinned like a maniac as he realized the homing device he had worn was still in place.  THRUSH had slipped up this time, and the lanky blond was still wearing the belt with the vital hardware.  Just as the two were getting ready to savor a small victory, the door to their room opened.

Illya was in the midst of a reprimand, and as both taskmaster and recipient, his mood had plummeted from professional to distraught.  He knew April felt responsible for the earlier foul up; in truth Illya bore the burden of senior agent and as such, it would be on his head that the proverbial hammer would fall.

April and Kuryakin rounded the last corner in the maze of old brick and ruptured asphalt.  Neither of them spoke, each of them carefully picking the way out of danger.  When at last Illya spotted their sedan he grabbed April’s elbow and pulled her along with him, running at top speed towards escape.

A bullet pinged off of the driver side door just as Illya was reaching towards it. April had her gun in a death grip as she aimed it towards the flash. Illya flattened himself to the pavement, retrieved his Special, and hoped that April could deter the shooter for a few seconds longer.

In the midst of the attack, Illya thought back in a fury of scenes to the one that had ensued just a few hours before…

Two hours earlier…

Napoleon and Mark set up a rendezvous with a contact that would lead them to their target: Lucas Weir. This new THRUSH threat had come in the form of the seemingly wealthy and charismatic Lucas Weir.  He regularly entertained in his lavish upper West Side  apartment, attracting people from various backgrounds and interests.  He had a rhetoric that was a New Order type of gospel; he would help people reach their dreams while they sold him their souls.

Illya had been amazed that in this modern city, amidst the American backdrop of ease and security, this Svengali had found for himself so many gullible, wealthy victims.

Weir had moved into New York with a flourish, rubbing shoulders with wealthy and influential people who had no real understanding of the larceny to which they were now in league.  If Solo and Slate were successful in gaining entry to Weir’s salon tonight, the next step would include April and Illya as malleable new converts to the message Weir was preaching.

That had been the plan.  A casual introduction should have sufficed, after which a simple phone call would summon the attractive couple and Weir would have four new devotees.  It was simple, if not foolproof.

The contact was an UNCLE agent who had successfully infiltrated the staff in Weir’s apartment.  Her job was simply to observe, and when the time came she would pass on to Napoleon an invitation to this evening’s event.  In a most unusual twist in an otherwise routine sort of affair, the girl had gotten herself enthralled with Weir and, not believing him to be the monster THRUSH normally turned out, she admitted her role to him and begged forgiveness.

The price of forgiveness was for her to do as originally planned and deliver the invitation to Solo and Slate.  Telling her to not fret her pretty little head about it, Weir convinced the girl, Tammy, that he was not in any way interested in deterring UNCLE from doing good in the world.  He would, in fact, very much like to meet two men whose lives were dedicated to such altruistic pursuits.

Tammy was relieved.  She was also certain that, once Napoleon and Mark heard Lucas speak, they too would want to be a part of his vision.

With all of these things in play, and Illya and April waiting for the signal to join the party, Napoleon and Mark entered the swanky apartment of Lucas Weir and began what they believed would be a successful mission to unseat this newest THRUSH danger.

Weir spotted the two UNCLE agents immediately.  He was well aware of Solo, and when he saw the blond man with him assumed it was Kuryakin.  Excellent.

“Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.  I am Lucas Weir.”

Napoleon preened appropriately, examining the tall, aristocratic looking young man.  He was not what Solo had expected.

“Napoleon Solo.  And this is my associate, Mark Slate.  Thank you for the invitation, we’ve both heard quite a lot about you.  All of it good, of course.”

The name Slate was unfamiliar, and for just a moment Lucas Weir showed a slight hesitation.  Napoleon caught it, immediately aware of the nuances of his host’s mannerisms.

“Well, I am so glad that you both are here.  Please, enjoy the food and the music… above all the conversation.  I shall check back with you later.”

With that the elegant Weir slid effortlessly into the noisy crowd in his living room.  Napoleon caught Mark’s eye and indicated that they too should mingle.  Perhaps it would garner them another interview with the man they sought to bring down.

To the untrained eye, it was merely a room full of noisy, enthusiastic people mostly dressed in the current mod fashions that were a favorite of April Dancer, observed her partner.  This room was made for the vivacious woman, and Mark was certain that she would make the right impression on Weir.  Add to that the cool conveyance of European charm that Illya could turn on or off at will, and the evening seemed destined for an UNCLE victory.

At just the right time, Napoleon asked about a telephone, hoping to gain the attention of Lucas Weir in the process.  The bait worked, and soon the suave American was conversing with the equally debonair THRUSH.

“You know, I am very certain that your little soiree here would appeal greatly to some very good friends of mine.  Is it too, too gauche to impose on your hospitality and invite them over.  I happen to know that they are still at home right now, and…”

Weir looked pleased and entirely too accommodating.  No doubt Solo was referring to Kuryakin, and getting the two of them here together was exactly what he had hoped for.

“Please, Napoleon… by all means do call your friends.  The more the merrier is cliché but true, and it would be my pleasure to meet others who can share our vision and… philosophy.”

Mark was observing this exchange, and the smile on Weir’s face suddenly caused his hair to stand on end, or at least it felt that way.  His instincts told him they should run.  Duty told him to stay where he was and do whatever Napoleon said.

Music was playing in the background of the conversations in the room, and the double doors that led out to a generous balcony were opened to the moderately cool evening.  With all of the bodies creating the only heat needed in the room, the gentle breeze that wafted in carried the sounds of the street below, adding to the atmosphere of anticipation and energy.

Illya and April were waiting for the phone call as they sat at a bar not far from Weir’s apartment.  Rather than risk traffic snarl-ups or other problems, the two had chosen to remain within walking distance of the imposing building where the party was going on.  Napoleon’s call was forwarded there where the bartender, an UNCLE Section III agent, was ready to hand the phone to the waiting blond.

“Illya, how are you and your darling bride?”

The blond looked at April with something like amusement before replying.

“I believe we are reasonably happy, all things considered.  Do you have something new to tell us?”

“I think you two should join Mark and me, and let me introduce you to our host.  How long will it take you to get here?”

April was listening in and held up her hand to indicate the minutes…

“Um… about five minutes, if you are where you told us about earlier.”

Just in case someone was listening in on the conversation, an effort was made to convey the sense of the two men being friends and aware of each other’s plans for the evening.

“Yes, the party I mentioned to you.  So, you’ll be here then?”

“Mmmm… darling?’

April chimed in at that.

“Napoleon, darling, we’ll see you in a few.”

“There it is then, we’ll be there shortly.”

Napoleon hung up, his anticipation now heightened by the prospect of the team being together and in sync for the plan they had formulated.  Had he known that in another room his photograph was at that moment being studied, his anticipation might have been of a different nature entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

Lucas Weir was accustomed to victories, both small and large.  To have gained Napoleon Solo in his grasp was rather a large victory to Weir’s way of thinking, and certainly to THRUSH.  He was mildly disappointed that Illya Kuryakin had not accompanied his partner here, something that he would need to rectify.  Then again, it was entirely probably that the so-called ‘friend’ of whom Solo spoke was indeed the elusive Russian agent.

Within a few minutes answers arrived when the doorbell to Weir’s apartment rang out and in walked a lovely auburn haired woman who was accompanied by a stylish looking blond man.  This then, thought Lucas, was Kuryakin.  His satisfaction at that was slightly impeded by the woman, however.  She seemed familiar and memory was not engaging for the THRUSH operative. 

Weir was immediately in their midst as the four UNCLE agents congregated much as friends would in a new environment.  Napoleon feigned delight at the appearance of the couple as he introduced Illya and April to Lucas Weir.

  


“Lucas, this is Anton and Isabel Duarte.  Anton and Isabel, Lucas Weir, our host.”

Illya extended his hand while April purred her delight at being invited.

“We’ve been hearing about you, Mr. Weir…”

Lucas smiled, his attention on the woman in an effort to place her in his extensive file of names and faces.

“Please Isabel, I am Lucas to my friends, of whom I hope to count you and Anton.”

Illya portrayed himself in a perfect continental posture, his all black ensemble curiously in style.  Napoleon noted with some amusement that the trousers were not corduroy, the turtleneck seemed to be cashmere, and the thigh length jacket made of silk.  He had a white scarf wrapped loosely around his neck and hanging nearly to his knees.  It was in contrast to April’s shocking pink mini-dress and thigh high black suede boots.  Together, the duo looked as though they had stepped off of a London runway.

April smiled in reply to Weir, prompting Illya into a conversation.

“You are too kind, Lucas.  Here we have invaded your party like social paupers, and you welcome us gladly.  We are honored to be here.”

Weir was pleased.  Of course he knew Illya was lying through his teeth in his performance, but he admired these UNCLE agents.  Sometimes he wished he could turn his loyalties and join the other side.  He wouldn’t do it, but they did have their appeal.

“Isabel, you look awfully familiar to me.  Have you modeled somewhere?”

The party was escalating as drinks flowed and people were becoming inebriated with liquor and anticipation.  These little events at Weir’s apartment always tended to loosen up as the hours progressed and the drinks had their effect; following Lucas Weir wasn’t merely due to his charisma, the drinks were laced with THRUSH drugs intended to induce a type of mind control.  A small army was being assembled under the guise of searching for paradise.

April thought back, trying to place Lucas somewhere in her short tenure with UNCLE, but nowhere did Weir appear.

“I did model some while I was in college.  I can’t imagine that you would have seen any of that, Lucas.  You do flatter me, though.”

Illya was immediately concerned.  If Weir recognized April he might piece things together, if he hadn’t already.  Something about this entire set up made the Russian uncomfortable and he found himself searching out some signal from his own partner.

That’s when Illya spotted Tammy, the agent who had set up this gambit.  She was serving drinks, carrying on in her role as a member of Weir’s staff.  Tammy Gaines was a new recruit, one of the starry eyed females that had survived Survival School and made it to New York.  Even with April Dancer’s triumph in Section II, Kuryakin still had some doubts about a few of the women he had seen.  Not all of them had April’s savvy and ingenuity when it came to dealing with the real world of THRUSH and others like it.  He wondered about Tammy as he watched her circulate.  She was either really good at this deception, or she was entirely too comfortable in Weir’s presence.

Napoleon sensed Illya’s apprehension and was beginning to share some of it.  Wordlessly the two men agreed that the situation needed careful watching, even as they observed Lucas Weir and April.

Mark Slate had also been keenly observant and was now following Tammy as she ducked into the kitchen.  In the most nonchalant posture he could manage, Mark leaned against the wall next to the door and tried to pick up any conversation that might be going on.  What he heard shocked him.

“So, is the crowd almost ready?”

It was Tammy who replied to the question.

“Yes, I think so.  And the new ones should be coming along as well.  I just know they’re going to be as enthusiastic as we all are.  I’m so glad to be able to share this; so happy that UNCLE is wrong about Lucas.”

Mark stood up a little straighter at that, immediately turning his attention back to the three still conversing with Weir.  How was he supposed to handle this one?  Tammy was obviously compromised, which meant they all were as well.  The Englishman juggled several scenarios before heading back to his comrades.  When he approached them, he was pulling out a cigarette.

“So, Lucas old man, I seem to have lost my lighter.  Could I bother you for one?”

Weir obliged, turning to a nearby cabinet in order to retrieve a lighter for Mark.  When Weir’s back was turned, Mark signaled with a slicing motion across his neck, a quick and wordless announcement that they had been identified as UNCLE agents.

Illya reached out to grab April by the arm, only to find that she had followed Weir to the cabinet and was attempting to distract him from the other agents.  Mark and Napoleon stepped towards the balcony, intending to come up with a quick plan for exiting without endangering any of the partygoers.  Illya watched April, unsure as to how he might extricate her without raising any suspicions.  He was unprepared for what happened next.

The crowd in the room had become suddenly quite still, as though a spell had been cast without a word.  Aside from the four UNCLE agents, only the wait staff was left standing; they and Lucas Weir all shifted their attention to the intruders.

Napoleon and Mark turned as one towards the balcony, only to be met by one of the servers holding a gun pointed directly at the American.  April attempted to overcome Weir with a similar threat, only to be overwhelmed by the man’s surprisingly agile retreat.  At the same moment as her unsuccessful assault, Illya failed to reach the other two before they were hit with THRUSH sleep darts.  Napoleon and Mark fell to the floor in a heap as the Russian watched, and then turned abruptly in April’s direction.  He had no choice but to grab April and pull her out the door and into the corridor where they sprinted for the stairs in a rush to escape pursuit by two more members of Weir’s staff.

“What did you mean going after Weir?  Couldn’t you see that Napoleon and Mark were in trouble?”

April was nearly breathless from the running and her exasperation with Illya.  She had tried to help, to disarm Lucas Weir.  Why was that now responsible for what had happened to her and Illya’s partners?

“I’m sorry, Illya.  I thought that I could take him… Can you hear anyone coming?”

Illya had stopped, pulling April in close to him as they listened for footsteps.  They had run down the stairs until reaching the ninth floor, then taken the elevator down to the lobby.  Descending lights had spurred them towards the service entry in the back of the building, and now they were in an alley that defied the otherwise well appointed complex.

Kuryakin didn’t want to argue with the younger agent.  The female agent.  He also didn’t want to disregard her abilities because she was a woman, but he had to wonder if a man would have been able to take Weir where she had failed to do so.

“It isn’t your fault, April.  I apologize.  I should have done something, but at the moment we seem to have been outnumbered and …”

April caught her breath; looking at the man next to her she wondered about the scene upstairs.  Someone had compromised the mission, and it wasn’t any of them.  That meant Tammy Gaines, and for the life of her, April couldn’t figure out why.

“Illya, the only person who could have fingered us is …”

“Tammy Gaines.  I know.  Watching her in that room made me wonder about her; I should have acted sooner.’

So there it was.  It would do no good to look back now. 

“We need to go back for Napoleon and Mark, if they’re still up there.  Weir has a reputation for brokering with THRUSH, and he’s certain to offer up Napoleon for a bonus.”

That remark made April look up at her companion with a start.

“What about Mark?  Is he valuable enough…?”

Illya regretted causing concern, but the truth was he didn’t know.

“He may be… I honestly don’t know.  Napoleon is CEA of this region, though, and therefore…”

A clicking noise halted the conversation.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The noise was only the sound of something rummaging in a garbage can.  Thankful that their pursuers weren’t responsible, April and Illya continued on towards the car they had left parked outside of the bar where this had all begun just an hour earlier.

With the vehicle in sight, Illya once again pulled on April’s arm, tugging at her to follow him closely as they made a run for the car.  Just as Illya was putting a key into the lock, a bullet whizzed past his head, barely missing an opportunity to part the unruly blond hair.

April ducked, and then came up in a posture that said she was ready.  Once more Illya went down as another bullet struck the car’s reinforced body.  With Illya on the ground and April in a stance meant to convey danger to the opposition, seconds seemed to stretch into unbearable eons.

“Illya, are you all right?”

There was a concern born of duty in the woman’s voice.

“Yes, just keeping the ground company.  Do you see anything?”

April retreated to the side of the car where Illya was slowly standing again.  In the dark it was impossible to see the small puddle of blood.

“You… Illya?”

The blond collapsed again, this time from the puncture in his chest.  April unlocked the back door and with every ounce of strength she had, pulled and pushed until the Russian was inside.  Without waiting for anyone else to show up, the woman from UNCLE turned the ignition and floored the sedan, screeching around corners and into Manhattan traffic without any concern for unfortunate pedestrians or innocents in competing cars.  Getting Kuryakin into medical was now her only concern.

Mark Slate twisted the belt buckle just enough to set the homing signal before a light came on in the room.  Standing in the doorway was Lucas Weir, a small smile playing across his face as he surveyed the sight of two unarmed UNCLE agents.

“Ah, was it rude of me to throw my new friends into this dark room?  I apologize, but at times it is necessary to be less than civil.”

Napoleon smiled, not allowing his enemy to see anything except a cool and equally calculating foe.

“I totally understand.  Parties sometimes bring out the worst in people.  Oh, by the way, your other guests seemed a little worse for wear out there.  I hope it’s nothing serious.”

If Lucas could have chosen someone with whom to join forces, it would have been a man like Napoleon Solo.  Most of the people he encountered in THRUSH were less than admirable.

“You, Napoleon, are a worthy opponent.  I regret that we will not have opportunity to duel properly.  I fear that my duty requires me to send you away to THRUSH Central.’

Weir paused, his attention refocused on Mark Slate.  This presented a conundrum of sorts.

He pointed at Slate…

“I am not quite certain what to do with you, Mr. Slate.  It seems you are not quite so much in demand as your friend here.”

Mark feigned insult at the remark.

“I’m quite certain that I am extremely valuable to the right people.  Perhaps you just don’t know any of them.”

“Ha! A little repartee… how clever of you, Mr. Slate.  I fear that won’t change things, however.  You are, most probably, quite doomed.”

Napoleon tilted his chin, posturing for the inevitable litany of accomplishments that usually came about now.  THRUSH types seemed always to need an outlet for explaining themselves.

“I wouldn’t count me out just yet, Weir.  So far all you have are a room full of stoned groupies and a turncoat from UNCLE.”

Napoleon jumped on that, genuinely wanting to know how Weir had seduced Tammy into joining him.

“May I speak with agent Gaines… er, Tammy.  I would very much like to know why she has deserted my team for, shall we say, the dark side.”

Lucas smiled, a crooked sort of smile that immediately struck something like fear into Napoleon’s soul.  He had a bad feeling about things.

“I am sorry to report that your Miss Gaines has,  _shall **we**  say_, gone prematurely into that  _other_  dark place.  I fear we had no further use for someone who could so easily turn from one side to the other.  In any event, I am certain she will be missed.”

Mark couldn’t help an anguished sigh.  He had known the girl very slightly, and the thought of her being dead, and of her betrayal…

“You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?  It must make you feel like a man to murder women, eh.”

Napoleon put a hand out to hold Mark back from what was leading to an aggressive stance.  It would neither of them any good to stir things up just yet. 

 

April managed to get back to headquarters in record time.  Illya had regained consciousness several times, telling April to go back for Napoleon and Mark as she steadfastly gunned the engine and aimed for Medical.

April had alerted the staff that she was bringing in a wounded agent.  When she arrived there was a gurney and two orderlies ready to transfer Illya into the facilities.  Another Section III agent was ready to take the wheel of the car as April followed the medical entourage inside.

Dr. Wheeler was on duty this evening, and he greeted April with an outstretched arm that indicated she could go no farther than the swinging double doors that led to the operating suite. The wait was not interminable, nor the procedure life threatening.  When Wheeler next emerged from the guarded venue he spoke to both people who waited there.

“Hello Mr. Waverly, Miss Dancer.  Mr. Kuryakin has lost quite a lot of blood, but the bullet is not endangering his life, although he will have a very difficult time putting on a shirt and tie for a few weeks.”

April tried not to smile at that.

“Well, that’s a relief, he generally wears turtleneck sweaters.”

The stoic physician didn’t see much benefit to that and stifled a shrug at the image of a man trying to put an arm into a sweater while sporting a sling.

“You can see him when he wakes up, but not before.”

Waverly nodded, turned to April with a raised eyebrow at her remark and headed back to the elevator.

April had to make a decision: whether to wait for Illya to wake up or go back to the apartment where last she had seen her partner and Napoleon.  She was torn, partly due to the lack of direction.   
It was as though Mr. Waverly assumed that the young woman would wait here at headquarters.

 


	5. Chapter 5

April Dancer was nothing if not bold.  Not just any fashion conscious woman could step into the shoes that the U.N.C.L.E. had made for her.  Without waiting for permission or instructions, April made her way towards the recovery room where she now knew Illya would be.

It was only to make certain that the Russian was going to be all right; something about this evening’s events had left April with the feeling she was responsible for way too much of what had gone wrong.  It wasn’t just Illya’s remarks, either. 

April did recognize Lucas Weir, and she knew where he had seen her previous to tonight’s debacle.

 

  


Before coming to New York from Survival School, April had been assigned a brief courier run in Paris.  It was a strange segue for the new graduate, and at the time she had wondered about the request.  The UNCLE Chief who had requested it was the eccentric Harry Beldon, from Berlin.  A simple drop outside of a couturier’s shop had brought her squarely in front of the plate glass window that showcased the designer’s creations.  When April had turned to look at the assembly of gowns she had seen Lucas Weir.  She hadn’t known his name then, but when she saw him this evening there was not any doubt.  Obviously he had remembered her as well, although perhaps not clearly enough to identify her as the girl in that scene.

April was thinking of this when she entered Illya’s room.  It was darkened and full of the noises one hears in the hospital.  A glimmer of light landed on the Russian’s pale face and illuminated blue eyes watching her as she entered.

“April … help me get up…’

Illya grunted out his complaints regarding the pain without stopping to give them any heed.

“We need to go back to that apartment.  April!”

The girl jumped at that last bark from the wounded agent.  Apparently the bullet wound was not so bad as she had thought; or at least Illya didn’t think it was bad.  He was making his way from beneath a thin sheet and April realized, just before Illya did, that he was naked.  In the rush to get him into surgery and then recovery, the staff had removed his clothing but left him … undressed she supposed, in order to have access to the wound.

“Uh… Illya darling …”

The Russian stood and then swayed slightly, prompting April to go to his side and hold him until the dizziness passed.  It was then that Illya recognized his state of undress.

“Oh.  Just … oh, never mind.  I’m not shy if you’re not…”

She had to laugh.  She would be the envy of so many women if ever word got out.  She silently vowed that it would not.

“No, I’m fine.  Let’s just get you dressed.  I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you won’t insist on going back there with me?’

The icy glare said it all.

“No.  I didn’t think so.  All right, here’s your pants…”

The shirt was gone.  Just as well, since it was soaked through with blood.  The jacket was likewise missing, which meant the slender agent remained only half dressed.

“I’ll go and see what I can find.  Sit down, will you.  I’m afraid you’re going to faint on me as it is.”

Illya rolled his eyes and regretted it immediately.  The drugs were more of a hindrance than the damn hole in his chest.  Almost to his shoulder actually, something he realized as he was trying to see in the mirror above the small sink.

It didn’t take April very long to locate a polo shirt, something that the fellow in the next room wouldn’t be needing for a day or two.  It was large on Kuryakin, but it did the job.  Satisfied and now with his boots zipped, he was ready to walk out of here.

“Lean on me, just a little.  You still look as though you’re going to drop any second.”

“I won’t.  But … thank you.  I’m sorry I messed this one up; not much of a senior agent I’m afraid.”

April smiled, the very idea of Illya Kuryakin apologizing to her was something she’d never forget.  But then she remembered…

“Illya, about Lucas Weir…”

They had made it past the reception desk and were on their way to the car April had driven to work in earlier that day.  Hours ago, she thought… eons.

Illya gave her one of the sidelong looks for which he had become well known.  Women caught them like bouquets and hoped they had the same sweet fragrance of affection; normally there was disappointment.

“What about him?”

April took a deep breath.

“He did recognize me.’

The sideways glance lengthened.

“Paris.  He saw me in Paris, just after I left Survival School.  Harry Beldon snagged me for a courier run, and while on it I saw, and he saw me and… Do you think it made a difference?”

The blue eyes went back to the staring straight ahead.  Illya looked so tired, and April really did think he might pass out again.

“No.  I do not believe it made a difference.’

He sighed, flinched slightly at the pain in his shoulder.  The medication was wearing off.

“Harry Beldon, you say?  He is a strange one.  I used to work for Beldon… years ago…”

His head lolled to one side, just for a second.

“Illya?  Hey, are you…?”

The blond straightened up.   _Don’t do that_ , he chastised himself.

“No, I’m … I’m fine.  Just drive.  Just… go, April.”

 

Lucas Weir was growing impatient with this discussion.  He didn’t owe UNCLE agents anything, no explanations or justifications.  He would regret just a little having to send Solo back to THRUSH Central, but it was all in a day’s work, was it not.

If they expected their missing partners to show up and rescue them, Mark and Napoleon weren’t exhibiting any kind of anxiousness or anticipation.  Weir couldn’t know about the homing device and therefore, he wouldn’t expect to be interrupted.

It wasn’t in their natures to just wait, however.  Without any indication of their intentions, Napoleon suddenly bolted for Weir, tackling the taller man as his stunned associates looked on.  Mark dropped down into a one-legged squat while turning his body and taking out the two guards with his other extended leg.  It was a smooth and impressive move.  Weir was still struggling to remain upright when the door burst open to reveal another guard waving a gun and shouting at Napoleon to stop.

 Weir freed himself from Solo’s grip as the gun came to rest against the agent’s temple.  Mark’s victims were still out, but the gun more than evened the odds in Weir’s favor.

“You are very foolish, but I suppose there is no blame in trying to obtain one’s freedom.   Perhaps even one’s life.”

Weir looked at Mark when he said that, and would have acted on the threat if not for the next surprise that came through the door.

 

April pulled up to the curb in front of Weir’s apartment building.  The streets were still populated with late night crowds, and no one paid attention to the couple that emerged from the blue convertible.  Illya was still groggy with pain, but he was determined to stay alert and finish this affair.  April was staying the course like a real professional, something that Illya reminded himself she truly was.

“I think we ought to just take the elevator up to the penthouse and make an entrance…’

The pretty face showed concern now for her ailing superior.  There was no way Illya could take the stairs, which meant they had no choice but to utilize a frontal attack.

“Let’s go get our partners.  Illya, please don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

The blond smiled, she was entirely too comfortable with him.

“I was going to tell you the same thing, April.  I’ll be fine.”

When the two arrived at Weir’s front door they found no guards in the hall, and when April turned the handle to open it, she found no resistance.

“It’s unlocked.  Is that something we should be concerned about?”

Illya shook his head, flattening himself again the opposite side of the door as April slowly opened it.

No one greeted them, although voices could be heard farther down the hall.  Illya motioned for them to continue as he drew his Special and readied himself for a fight.  April led the way, her gun arm extended as she carefully made a way towards the voices.

“… _Perhaps even one’s life.”_

It was Weir’s voice, and April didn’t intend to let him finish that thought.  She kicked the door backwards with one smooth motion and took aim at the handsome THRUSH operative.  The hot pink mini dress atop thigh high black boots was not the usual rescue image that Napoleon Solo envisioned, but he liked it.

Weir didn’t put up a fight, his bullies likewise were easily herded into the living room to wait for pick up by Section III agents who were now alerted and heading this way.

In the bustle of activity involved among the four UNCLE agents and the now vanquished foe, Napoleon didn’t immediately notice that his own partner was wounded.  Illya had retreated to a wall and was leaning against it, his strength sapped.  The borrowed shirt was now saturated with blood as the wound sprung a leak amidst the action, modest though it had been.

April saw Napoleon’s attention shift to the pale man she had rescued only an hour or so earlier.  What a night! 

“Illya?  What happened to you, tovarisch?  Can’t you stay out of trouble for just a few minutes without me?”

The gentle ribbing was colored with real concern.  Had this happened just as they entered the apartment, or…?  His mental guessing game was interrupted as the Russian, now pale as a sheet, began to slide down the wall, failing every attempt to keep himself aloft.  He was going down and nothing was going to stop it…

“Hey, easy going there, Illya.  I’ve got you.”

 

The next day found four agents assembled in front of Mr. Waverly.  Illya had been treated – again, and released to the care of his partner.  No gunfights, no carousing and definitely no more active duty for at least twenty-four hours.  Illya had reluctantly agreed on all three points.

Mark and April were poised for a terse review of their activities; nothing like getting captured and allowing your senior agent who is acting as partner, to get himself shot.  Both of the young agents were bravely anticipating the worst.

Illya and Napoleon weren’t nearly so devoid of optimism.  After all, they had gotten their man, and in spite of the wily intentions of the SOB (Mark’s term, strictly on his head), UNCLE would indeed find the information he possessed useful in the pursuit of yet more THRUSH operations.

Alexander Waverly huffed into his pipe, the ever-present aroma somehow comforting to the young people assembled in front of him.

“I see that we have successfully acquired Lucas Weir.  Well done.  Mr. Kuryakin, you are to take the next two days off from active duty…’

Illya started to object, but the wiry eyebrows shot up in a manner that stayed any comment from the blond.

‘… active duty, which does not preclude the reports that I expect on this affair no later than tomorrow morning.  That is all.  Good day.”

April and Mark sat still for just a fraction longer than necessary, but soon rose from their chairs to follow their two superiors out through the hissing doors.

“That’s a bloody miracle.  April luv, we made it past the lion’s den and live to tell the tale.”

He winked at his auburn haired partner, glad to be heading back to their normal partnership in spite of all the fun he’d had with Napoleon.

“April, Mark… well done.  I hope we’ll get to do this again soon.  Illya?”

The Russian nodded his adieu and followed his own partner down the corridor.  Agents Dancer and Slate watched the retreat, mindful of the responsibilities born by the two men.

“Mark darling, do you think we’ll be as well regarded as those two some day?  Illya was awfully brave, the way he left Medical and went right back to rescue Napoleon and …”

Mark was staring at her, slightly concerned that she seemed to be so smitten with Kuryakin.

“… Oh, Mark.  Please don’t look at me like that.  I’ll never love anyone like I love my little Marky-poo.”

“I have asked you repeatedly to not call me that.  Now, as I was saying…”

And the two headed off for their own future glory, arm in arm and knitted together like proper soul mates.

 


End file.
